The Times that Never Were
by OctoberWolf
Summary: One-shots and drabbles exploring the wonderful characters of Moffat-era Who.
1. Sunset Shadows

**Hullo, OctoberWolf here. This is my first story published (second, if you count the other one, which I don't). This is just going to be a series of drabbles and one-shots with no real purpose. No specific pairings in mind, nothing much other than pieces exploring the various characters of Moffat era Who and their shortcomings and strengths. I'm going to attempt to publish one thing a day - hopefully I won't get lazy!**

**If you want to see a specific pairing/situation, let me know and I'll see what I can do!  
><strong>

**This little story is set near the end of the Doctor and River's relationship, hopefully far in the future from what we've seen on the show. The Doctor is older, wiser, and a bit more bitter.**

**Pairings: Doctor/River**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated. You don't have to be nice - if it's crap, say so.**

**- October  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The two suns were poised to set on the horizon, illuminating the futuristic city with a pleasant orange light. A couple sat on a hill, taking in the brilliant sight before them and enjoying the tantalizing feel of their barely-overlapping fingertips. The woman's curly hair was lit around the edges, while the man's flopped haphazardly over his right eye.<p>

The two beings looked for all the world like an ordinary pair of young humans enjoying their night out together. But their hearts beat double, and they were not young at all.

"It's beautiful," the woman whispered. "I'm glad you showed me this."

"It's nothing," the man said, his voice surprisingly bitter. "Gallifrey was nothing like this. It was so much more…alive."

The woman looked at her lover's face, only to find his deep-set eyes to be bathed in shadow. "Sweetie, I think it's lovely."

"You weren't there," the man who was not quite human continued, ignoring the woman's protests. "You didn't see it. The cities, the brilliant fields…it was like someone caught this, bottled it, and made it a thousand times brighter. No, never mind, not a thousand, a thousand's rubbish. A _million_ times brighter."

The man who was also a doctor - who was also _the_ Doctor - had a faraway look in his eyes. An orange fire burned bright behind his green irises, and he seemed for all the world to be lost in a memory, caught up in sights and sounds and smells that were lost to time itself.

"The light was exactly like this, all the time. Everything was in sync, everything _worked_. It was…" the Doctor searched for a word, a word big enough to encompass everything that his home planet had been and more. "It was _there_. Always."

The woman, River Song, whose name spoke more of her personality than even she knew, leaned in and kissed the Doctor's forehead gently. "It's gone now, sweetie, and I'm sorry. But you did the right thing. The Time Lords -"

"Were exactly like me," the Doctor finished, pulling away. "The only difference is, I haven't got someone to stop me once I've gone too far."

"You've got me," River said quietly. The silence between them grew like the shadows that were overtaking the Doctor's face as the suns sank lower and became obscured by the edge of the planet.

Eventually, the Doctor spoke again, hollowly and without emotion. "River, did I ever tell you why the Time Lords only had twelve regenerations?"

"No," River answered, knowing that the Doctor wanted to explain something to her. "Why was it, exactly?"

The Doctor smiled thinly, and leaned in close to River's ear, her hair brushing his lips. "Let me tell you a secret - _they didn't._"

River drew back and looked at the Doctor, confused. "What do you mean 'they didn't'? Of course they did, dear, you told me yourself!"

"The Doctor lies," the Doctor said bitterly. "Time Lords had an unlimited number of regenerations - well, physically, at least. Mentally…mentally, it was too much to handle. Most Time Lords spent five hundred to a thousand years in one body; regeneration didn't happen often, and when it did, it was like rewriting your whole life."

River nodded; she understood. If this was all the Doctor needed to tell her, then perhaps they should be going - it was getting dark and cold. And so was the Doctor.

"I'm not finished," he growled, sensing River's discomfort. "You see, twelve was about the number a Time Lord could handle. Rewriting your life twelve times…it was terrible. And so after the twelfth one, most chose to end it." He turned to River, the fire in his eyes gone. It was replaced with an age-old fatigue; it was the look of a man who had been running and was about to start again. "They killed themselves, River. When you've been a new man twelve times, what is there left to live for?"

The Doctor stood then, and began to walk towards the TARDIS, not bothering to lift his head and regard the stars that were beginning to adorn the sky. River wanted to say something, to call out and remind him that he was not alone. But she did not.

Instead, she watched him be swallowed by the shadows that surrounded them both.


	2. Still Breathing

**Er, sorry. I lied. Apparently I'm not going to be publishing a story a day - especially not during a week where I have _two_ band reviews. I managed to write two drabbles, though! I'm not especially happy with this one, but I think it's alright.**

**This story takes place during "The God Complex". Just what was in the Doctor's room, anyway? Inspired by the Doctor's words when he was explaining to Amy why he had to leave. "Because you're still...breathing."  
><strong>

**Pairings: N/A**

**Review please! Perhaps that will inspire me to write more!**

**- October  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The Doctor felt it calling to him. It would not leave his head, the sound. It was a whisper, an undertone, nothing more. But it was enough. Enough to drive anyone mad.<p>

"Praise him."

He smacked a hand to his mouth, only to find that it was not he who had spoken. The words had come from somewhere inside his mind, and they had not sounded like his voice, anyway. They had sounded like Amy's voice, like River's, like Rose's. Everyone who he had ever met, who he had ever loved, were there in his head. And they were saying it, all together. "Praise him."

It must be close then, the room. His room.

Part of him was morbidly curious. What could his worst fear possibly be? Not the Daleks, surely - he didn't fear them, he hated them. He didn't fear the Weeping Angels. He didn't even fear the Vashta Nerada, with their quiet and manipulative methods of killing. The Doctor didn't fear any of his enemies. Perhaps that was because the idea of his own death did not frighten him in the slightest.

In fact, if the Doctor was to be totally honest with himself, he might find that he even _welcomed_ -

Before his thought could finish itself, an icy cold swept over him. There it was. His room, there, in front of him. Of course it was his room - how could it not be? It was so perfect, wonderfully perfect, standing there with his number on it, his eleven. Every bit of him, every last inch, wanted so badly to touch its handle and turn it, to _open_it. Because really, how terrible could letting go be?

His boots were horribly loud on the carpeted floor as he took his first slow step towards his fate. The second step was considerably quieter, and the third did not make a sound at all. It was as if each step he took was a step into another world. Even this did not frighten the Doctor. Other worlds were what he did, they were the air he breathed - every world was an "other world" to him. After all, he had no home of his own.

Suddenly, he was standing with the doorknob in his hand. The metal felt neither cold nor hot - in fact, he couldn't even feel the knob under his fingers. It did not exist. All that existed was what was in that room, and the Doctor _needed_ to see it for himself, it was the only thing that mattered…

With a twist of his wrist, he opened the door.

They were all there, all of them, every last one. Each person that the Doctor had ever known, each companion that he had invited in to his life and then had to leave behind, lay before him, stone cold dead. There was not a mark on them, he observed in a detached manner. They were surrounded by darkness, but the Doctor could faintly see the outline of the TARDIS console somewhere in the middle of the bodies, still trying to keep her old passengers safe.

In the shadows, something moved. It walked toward the Doctor with unsteady, deliberate motions, but he was not afraid. He knew who it would be.

"Of course," the Doctor muttered as he watched himself emerge from the tangle of the dead. "Who else?"

His nightmare self watched him with sad, lonely eyes. He looked horribly tired and weak; broken. In his arms he carried what appeared to be a limp shadow, but at a second glance, the Doctor in the doorway could see that the shadow had a head of fiery red hair…

The nightmare Doctor met the true Doctor's eyes, and something passed between them; an acknowledgement that the Doctor could be trusted no longer. With a sad lift of his mouth that could almost be counted as a smile, the Doctor closed the door. His hand shook on the knob, which now chilled him to the bone.

As he stood there in the corridor, he could not forget the image of Amelia Pond in his own arms, lifeless, as he stood helpless. The worst part, the very worst of it all, was that he had known for a long time that something like that could happen at any moment. And he had simply not cared. That was what scared him the most.

Instinctively, the Doctor turned on his heel and ran again. He attempted to formulate a plan, some way to get the rest of them out of this warped hotel alive, but he couldn't help but feel that he was only running to find a place where Amy was still breathing. Where they were all still breathing.


	3. Together we Stand

**Here's the third drabble, uploaded today as promised. See? I don't lie _all_ the time. **

**This one's happier, don't worry. It's just fluff that takes place on some undocumented adventure during seasons 5 or 6.**

**Pairings: Rory/Amy**

**As always, review review review!**

**- October  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The towering oak doors of the cathedral slam shut, providing a lovely backrest for the Doctor, Amy, and Rory. At least, it would have been a lovely backrest if their hearts weren't hammering in their chests. Amy nearly vomits as she tries to catch her breath, but she controls herself by rationalizing that it must be twice as hard for the Doctor - he has to deal with the frantic beating of <em>two<em> bloody hearts.

"And you're sure this will hold them?" she asks in between gasps.

"Course it will. This is a _church_," the Doctor says proudly, as though that were supposed to mean something of great importance.

"Doctor, this may be a church, but it has _wooden __doors_," Rory points out. "They've got lasers and, er, watchamacallits - oh yeah, flamethrowers. Somehow, I don't think they're going to just wait around out there like nice little aliens until we figure out some convenient way to beat them."

"Actually, Rory, that is _exactly_ what they're going to do," the Doctor counters smugly.

Rory rolls his eyes. "Why? Because you asked them nicely?"

"No, not at all. Well, sort of. See, in ancient times, the -"

Amy cuts the Doctor off mid-sentence with a long finger pressed to his lips. "Will you boys be quiet? I'm trying to get a look at this place and it's a bit hard with you two yapping at each other." At her words, a silence falls. It somehow manages to feel not uncomfortable, but _right._

Rory tilts his head back and admires the way the light filters through the immense stained-glass windows and tints everything with an enchanting shade of surreality. Amy touches a statue of a beautiful winged angel gently, as though she's afraid that it might spread its wings and fly away. The Doctor spins in a slow circle, observing the compass-rose-like pattern inlaid on the marble floor. It puts him in mind of a gun, shattered glass, and a terrible choice. But it also reminds him of strength and last-minute love. It is not an unpleasant feeling.

After a time, Amy speaks once more. "They haven't attacked us yet. Why haven't the aliens attacked us?"

"As I was saying before, in ancient times people would seek sanctuary in churches and cathedrals. It was a holy place; the law could not touch them there. Funny thing about these creatures - they've lived unnoticed on earth for centuries. Very honor bound, they are. To attack their enemies in a church would be completely disregarding their ancient customs. So long as we don't leave, we're quite safe here," the Doctor answers.

"Well, we've got to get out sometime," Rory says.

"I'll come up with a plan eventually. Give me a bit."

"I rather like it here," Amy puts in quietly. "There's something about it that's so…calm. Do you two feel it?"

By way of answer, Rory walks over to her and holds her tight, kissing her gently under the kind gaze of the angel. The Doctor stands a distance away, watching the couple enjoy each other. After a moment, Rory looks up and says, "You there, over here, now."

The Doctor chuckles and complies. He puts his hand in Amy's, and she grasps it tightly. Rory puts an arm around her waist, and they all lean on one another, grateful for the company in that silent, sacred place.

They know that they will have to face their attackers eventually, but for the moment they stand content and together. And they stay like that for a while.


End file.
